


Prayer Service

by DiabloAfterDark



Series: Analog Crossovers [1]
Category: Analog Archives, Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Crossover, Death, Gen, Human Sacrifice, Metaphors, Psychological Horror, Religion, Ritualistic Sacrifices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28991718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiabloAfterDark/pseuds/DiabloAfterDark
Summary: The local church starts another nightly mass, while the population slowly keeps decreasing.loosely based on "Prayer Service" from “Analog Archives” by Aidan Chick. TWs of brief suicide mentions and religion.
Relationships: Marilyn Manson/Reader
Series: Analog Crossovers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127528
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Prayer Service

**Author's Note:**

> I’m also fairly new to writing, so feel free to give me critiques.

Your eyes were heavy while they struggled to open. The shrieking alarm clock pierced thousands of times before you tried to sloppily reach for the snooze button. You growled in frustration then sighed in relief as you finally shut it up. You looked at the clock.

_3:45 AM…_

Why on earth would you have to wake up at such an early morning hour? Was it because of a special meeting for your job? Was it because you felt like it because you have the whole house to yourself? No…

“ _Remember, my friend,” a monk told you as he lent you a brochure, “Services are on Sundays at 4:30.”_

_“4:30?” you asked, “You mean 4:30 PM?”_

_“No... 4:30 AM.”_

_You facepalmed now that you knew that the early hour crossed your mind. You sweated and looked back at the monk, uttering a few “Ohs…”_

_“Please forgive me, I had this, umm, brain fart, so…”_

_“It’s ok,” reassured the monk, “Our Lord and Father Manson do not mind this at all.”_

Of course! It may be odd for a church to do mass at 4:30 in the morning, but what the heck. You started off your day, regardless of the sky still being dark out: getting dressed, eating a bowl of cold cereal for your breakfast, and scheduling anything else for the upcoming week. You looked at the time on your watch.

_4:15 AM…_

Knowing yourself, you paced out of your home and hopped into your car. The inside was dirty, but at least you can vacuum it sometime during the week after service would be over. As you turned on the engine, you heard about another news report from the radio.

“In more news,” it began, “there are more numerous reports of people in this community alone going missing.”

You scoffed, knowing that you do not need more information. Whatever happens, you were always ready. You switched to another station, which played jazz music at this time. While you listened, you drove off to your destination.

***

You arrived at the church and there were plenty of people there. You might say that there were around forty or maybe thirty people. Some of them were having their small talk of the night, some of them were already heading to the sanctuary, but some were meeting up with Father Manson.

Something may be off about this. It may be is the fact that Father Manson looked like a demon from the abyss. Or him wearing these goldish robes show that he is above the law. How the floral and diamond-like patterns stitched together onto the silky uniform glowed under the chandeliers. You shook your head and proceeded to walk towards the sanctuary.

“Ah, there’s the new guest of the hour,” you jumped as you heard a voice just as silky as his robe. You turned around and there he was, facing right back at you with a charming smile.

“Brother Ambrose has been talking about you to me all day,” chuckled Manson.

You blushed and your eyes rolled to look away.

“Yeah, well…” you muttered to yourself before responding back, “You must be Father Manson.”

“Indeed,” he said as he shook your hand, “I look forward to you attending service tonight.”

“T-thank you, Father,” you stuttered before you walked away to find your seat.

_He seemed nice,_ you thought, _I’m sure his makeup is just for his own personal looks…right?_

You sat down on the second to full front of the right pew. You looked at your watch for one final time before something would happen that starts the service.

_4:30 AM…_

You looked around and the multiple conversations between your fellow congregants began to die down as they sat down too. For a few seconds, you heard nothing but the rumbling of the vents of the church. That is until you heard the ringing of small bells. You looked behind and Father Manson emerged into the sanctuary, swaying a hanging incense burner, which had those bells. Along with the sound of the bells, you heard chanting from the monks that followed him to the front.

But instead of the sweet smell of incense, you would smell at any other church, it was rather the smell of rotten eggs. Have you died and gone to Hell? Of course not…you scoffed to yourself and blended in the congregation. Father Manson placed the burner onto a hook which was located near the pulpit. As the monks finished singing their ominous hymn, he stepped towards the pulpit and drew a sign of a cross.

“Good evening,” he greeted, before the congregants greeted him back, “Blessings from our Lord on this very night. It is often welcoming to see new congregants and it’s our duty to make them feel at home. To the new guests here tonight, may the Lord speak to you.”

You felt a smile quake around your lip. Father Manson was talking about you! He knew that you feel welcome. What could possibly go wrong from there?

“Let us pray,” began Father Manson. He bowed his head and you bowed yours along with the rest of the congregation.

“In the name of the Holy Lord…

“Lord, who art basked in purity…

Resides alongside us.

He performs all that he pleases.

“We whisper faith under the glow of twilit skies.

Lord, let us lament our sins.

Let us bask in your breadth!

Fill our souls with the righteousness of your being.

“In the body and blood of the Lord,

We seek the apple of truth.

We seek salvation.

Lord, art thy bleeding revelation?

“Our Lord breathes his obsession.

We hang our necks in his image,

Possessed by the orange night.

“Indulge in his forthcoming,

In infinite wisdom,

In infinite knowledge,

We sacrifice the burdened gift of the sensate.

“In the Lord's name, AMEN.”

There was something dubious about Father Manson mentioning about the said apple of truth and hanging your neck in the Lord’s image. He may have been devoted to his god, but it couldn’t go as far as mentioning death, could it? You stopped pondering about these ideas.

_I must be dreaming…_

“A holy reading of the fifth chapter in Lunology, verses six through seventeen,” Father Manson opened a bible of some sort, “Let him forgive your sins.”

You didn’t remember a book named Lunology in the bible. Is this a weird sect?

“Thou shalt have no other gods before the Lord…

“Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain…”

Obviously, you knew that these commandments were in the original bible. This mass that you were attending is something…

“Remember to worship the rains, keep them holy…

“Desire none other than the Lord’s wishes…”

_Funny…_ you thought again, _I know how to remember Sabbath, but worshipping the rains? What’s next?_

“Thou shalt seek the holy fruit, beckoned by thy Lord of the orange night…”

Father Manson mentioned the apple once again. Why, in this sect, is he telling you to commit the first sin?

“Thou shalt harvest the blood of thy neighbor in the name of the Lord…

“Eat thy neighbor in absolute faith in thy Lord…

“Thou shalt desire to consume only the spilling of fresh blood…

“The sacrifice of children shalt test thy faith in the Lord…

“Thou shalt sacrifice thy life in the name of the Lord.”

You felt your stomach churn and twist into a sickly and painful ulcer. It felt like you just wanted to throw up, but you didn’t want to make yourself look like a blasphemous fool in the mass you were attending.

_This isn’t real… This isn’t real… This isn’t real… This isn’t real…_

The monks returned to the sanctuary, now carrying what looked like communal wafers and one carried a golden chalice. Your heart started to beat faster and sweat started to run down your forehead as they placed gave the two relics to the priest. Still, you hoped that the wafers tasted like regular bread and wine. The organ played a somber tune as Father Manson lifted a wafer and the golden goblet towards the sky.

“Our Lord once said as we follow these commandments,” he continued, “we shall gather the bodies and blood in absolute faith and in remembrance of him.”

The organ relentlessly performed its awful song as you saw your peers walk upfront, one by one, to receive their daily bread. Soon, you had to walk up front and lo! You kneeled before him and looked up. You felt a strong, powerful sense of submission towards him and how he looked high and mighty above you. There was no escape, for you belonged to Father Manson.

“The body and the blood torn and shed for you,” you heard Father Manson say, as he gave you the chalice and the wafer.

You ate the wafer and drank from the chalice, but it wasn’t the sweet taste of bread and wine that you were expecting. Your tongue was duped into tasting a mix of iron and salt. Despite tasting the flesh and blood, you had to swallow. You didn’t want to fail Father Manson.

What in the name of _God_ were you doing?

You gave back the goblet to him and rushed back to your seat, hiding a repulsive look on your face from him. You kept watching a few more congregants receive the same ugly-tasting gift. Why would they be so used to drinking blood or a wafer that was made from a human organ?!

You watched the final congregant receive his communion and return to his pew. Your eyes started to twitch, looking everywhere to see if there could be a way out of this mass. Until…

“Bring forth yourself to your Lord!” Father Manson boomed his voice.

Your adrenaline was rushing faster and faster while you witnessed one of the monks give Father Manson a long golden dagger in exchange for the communal wafers and blood. The blade had rough edges, which would be easy enough to saw a bone in half. You blinked and there was one man, who had a silver streak along with his hair, standing beside Father Manson.

The middle-aged man unbuttoned his shirt. Under the dim chandeliers, there was hardly any sheen that reflected off and his bare skin only looked like fleece from a worn-out puppet. He lied down on the table and Father Manson pointed the dagger outward, creating a bright glow under the lights that pierced your eyes. You squinted, but you had to keep watching.

“In the shadow of the beast,

We devour our children,

Eclipsed by the Gate.”

Father Manson had the man at knifepoint as he began to recite that horrid poem. And yet, despite the nervous look, the man didn’t resist. What planet have you landed on?

“His gaze engulfs our bodies,

We are imprisoned in his wretched and terrible composition.

Forever toiling in the light of existence.

“Our system fails us.

They wane beneath orange skies,

The desperation that commands us,

Lends our minds to the blood of the night.

“He controls our sensations,

Drives our minds toward unlimited efficiency,

His yearnings are incomprehensible.”

Father Manson slowly drew the dagger longways across the man’s arm, causing him to whine. Blood started to ooze and trickle down to his hand.

“The blood of the rains called to me,

I met him there,

His image beckoned me in the glow of sunset,

Now I am part of the machine!”

Father Manson sawed the man’s arm before he sliced it off. The priest bellowed the last line of that stanza as the man’s whimpers turn into a bloodcurdling cry of agony. Of course, you saw more than blood, you saw tissues, bones, anything that made you want to hurl.

“I drove my knife down,

Blood spilled on the carpet,

Now that I have given him what he wants,

The craving of life…

The craving of humanity,” Father Manson began to call.

“I AM PART OF THE MACHINE!!” the entire congregation responded back.

You didn’t respond with them. You were paralyzed. You could not run. You could not hide. You would be damned if you did, but you were damned that you didn’t. You watched as Father Manson sliced the other arm of the screaming man.

“The apple exists as a beacon,

To guide us towards salvation

My teeth bite down but no blood is drawn,

He consumes all desire…”

There was a battle between the man’s cries and Father Manson’s loud preaching as he raised the blood-stained dagger upward, pointing down towards the breast. You wanted to look away, but you didn’t.

“I am merely part of the whole,

A number in a sea of infinity,

I have acted in the name of the Monster.

In undying faith…” called Father Manson again.

“ _I AM PART OF THE MACHINE!!!_ ” shrieked the congregation along with the priest.

Father Manson sunk the dagger down towards the old man’s chest. After the man let out his dying breath, there was only the sound of grinding flesh penetrated by the blade. Father Manson cut the chest open and looked at the man’s heart beating violently. He didn’t mind his hand being dirty and smeared with blood as he grabbed hold of the organ. He ripped it off and raised it high once more.

“Follow the Ten Commandments, live a holy life in the name of the Lord,” bid Father Manson, “Or else face eternal damnation…Amen.”

Father Manson lowered his arm and left the sanctuary along with the monks that kept him company. The congregants soon left while they conversed with each other once again. The chatting faded away into nothingness. What was left of the sanctuary was you and the gory corpse of the old man.

_“…There are more numerous reports of people in this community alone going missing…”_

Now you knew how the people were marked as missing. And it wasn’t pretty to see it occur. That man and the people before him had died a horrible death.

What kind of loving God would allow this…? But you pondered more…

THERE IS NO GOD.

You felt a tear crawl out of your eye, then another until you heard yourself cry into silent hysterics. Your breath was shaky, and you sniffed, and all of it echoed across the empty room. However, you didn’t pay attention to any incoming footsteps toward you.

Father Manson went to the same pew you were sitting and sat by your left side. His arm wrapped around you.

Even when he kills, he still mourns the dead.


End file.
